


First Date

by Kryptaria



Series: If You Were... 'verse outtakes and cut scenes [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Dom!John, If You Were 'verse, M/M, Outtake, Sub!Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After weeks of flirtation (not to mention the complication of kidnapping, assault, and espionage), John finally has his first scene with Jim.</p><p>If You Were 'verse outtake, set in chapter 10 of If You Were the Hunter, but can be read standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Date

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks as always to Mitaya, Snogandagrope, and my secret beta for all their feedback! This story slots into chapter 10 of If You Were the Hunter. I'm posting it as a separate outtake to avoid distracting from the main storyline.

**Monday, 5 April 2010**

Jim’s flat was in a trendy warehouse-turned-loft building, which made John wonder if he’d got the address wrong. His estate agent had shown him similar flats, every one of them out of his price range. How could Jim afford this on a café worker’s salary? Did he live with flatmates? Maybe John should’ve taken Irene up on her offer, if they were going to have privacy issues.

At the top floor, he followed Jim’s directions to the last door on the left. He was back to walking with his cane, no longer a threat to himself and any unsuspecting furniture he might pass with that damned crutch. Plus, he could carry a small gym bag over his shoulder with no difficulty.

As he raised his hand to knock, the door opened; Jim must have been waiting. He looked out, his smile shyly charming. “Hi. Come in,” he invited, stepping out of the way.

Upon seeing the open space beyond, John’s first reaction was that if Jim had roommates, they were both neat and invisible. The flat was gorgeous, with pale hardwood floors and brick walls. The kitchen was white and stainless steel, with high stools lined up before a breakfast bar.

The outer wall was entirely glass, with a pair of sliding doors in the center leading out to a narrow balcony. Beyond, there were no buildings to obscure a fantastic view of the low-hanging clouds glowing with the city lights below. There was no television or entertainment center. Instead, a white sofa faced the windows, with a couple of armchairs to either side.

There was no way he could afford this on a barista’s salary. Had he borrowed the keys from a rich friend to impress John?

John noticed stairs leading up to a loft, but his examination of the loft was interrupted by the click of the door lock. He turned back to look at Jim instead, and smiled when he saw Jim was casually dressed in jeans and a plain grey T-shirt that hugged his body.

“So —”

“Give me your safeword,” John interrupted, suddenly wanting to see what was under those plain clothes.

Jim’s eyes widened. “Pascal,” he said, giving the same safeword he had when they’d discussed their likes, dislikes, and limits two weeks ago. John wanted the reminder to be fresh in both their minds.

“I won’t play consent games — not for our first time. You can say no, stop, or Pascal, and we’ll stop for as long as you need. I won’t be upset, and it won’t make me leave unless you ask me to. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Jim said a bit breathlessly.

John started counting silently.

He only reached four before a flush rose in Jim’s cheeks. Looking down, Jim said, “Yes, _sir_.”

“You remembered,” John approved, dropping his bag at his feet. He took off his coat, hesitating when he remembered a moment very much like this a lifetime ago, at his bedsit. Before Jim could move or offer to take it, he said, “Go to the rug. Kneel down, facing the balcony.”

He caught the way Jim’s eyes went wide with surprise, but also with — he hoped — excitement. With a murmured, “Yes, sir,” Jim turned and crossed the room, walking between the sofa and one of the chairs. He hesitated only for a moment as though choosing the precise spot, rather than hurrying to obey. When he did kneel, the movement was graceful and comfortable, and he went still without any fidgeting or shifting his posture.

He really had done this before, John realized, slowly grinning as some of the lingering apprehension finally bled away.

After retrieving his bag, he tossed his jacket over a stool near the breakfast bar. He put the bag on the next stool and unzipped it, glancing back over his shoulder to see Jim watching his reflection in the glass. Amused, he considered what he’d learned about Jim’s preferences and limits.

He settled on a heavy leather flogger that he’d had for ages, though it had been in storage in London except when he was on leave. He also chose a signal whip, light and flexible, still new enough to smell of dye and conditioning oil, a gift from Irene. He’d brought restraints, but he left them in the bag, at least for now. Jim would expect to be restrained; John wouldn’t push his threshold for pain, not during a first scene, but he would push his self-control.

When he turned and started toward the rug, Jim looked down, shoulders rising and falling with his deeper, slower breaths. John sat down on the couch, leaning his cane against the arm, and set the whips down on the center cushion.

“Stand up. Take off your clothes,” he said, intentionally keeping his orders brief and non-specific. He wanted to watch Jim’s interpretation, to see him trying to figure out precisely what John wanted.

After a moment, Jim rose steadily, with the same grace he’d shown earlier. Keeping his back to John, he lifted his head and looked at the glass, meeting the reflection of John’s eyes again. It was interrupted only when he lifted his shirt over his head, revealing a surprisingly well-muscled back. The reflection showed similar definition to his chest and abdomen.

He walked to the armchair to the left, farther from where John sat, and draped his shirt over one arm. He was barefoot — and hadn’t bothered with pants under his jeans, John noted with amusement as he worked them down over his hips. He was already growing hard, and he hadn’t shaved, which John had half-expected.

When he was done, he looked back at John, meeting his gaze for a moment before bowing his head just slightly, not enough to hide either his blush or his smirk, a beautiful contrast that worked well for him. He knew just how attractive he was, and wasn’t pretending at modesty.

At John’s signal, he walked over to the sofa. He knelt without being prompted, letting out another quiet sigh when John touched the side of his face. John sat forward enough to be able to easily trace Jim’s shoulders, following each muscle with his fingertips.

There was no hint of impatience in Jim at all. He shivered as John toyed with the hairs at the back of his neck, bowing his head a bit more. When John brought his hands forward, Jim raised his head enough to press a kiss to John’s fingertips.

John felt some of his own tension ease, relaxing as Jim relaxed, and he found himself slipping easily into his role.

God, he needed this release. His constant concern for Sherlock, his hyper-awareness that his enemy was still out there, his curiosity about how a barista could afford this flat — all of his worries receded, not forgot but set carefully aside for the duration.

“I don’t want to bind you — not yet. Can you hold still for me?” he asked softly.

Jim looked up through his lashes. John could see a flash of calculation in his eyes. The blush receded and the smirk grew as he answered, “For as long as you want, sir.”

Some night, he’d test that, but not tonight.

For now, John put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, holding him in place, and retrieved his cane. He rose and crossed to the glass wall, where he set a hand to one of the broad panes beside the door, just above shoulder-height. He pushed against the glass, gently at first, then harder, until he was certain it could bear the stress of Jim’s weight.

 _Good,_ he thought, leaning his cane against the glass, off to the side, before turning to Jim. He was still kneeling before the sofa, but he’d twisted to watch John.

“Choose one of the whips. Bring it to me.”

A very faint smile appeared on Jim’s face, visible for only a second before he turned to study the two whips. His shoulders remained relaxed, his spine gently curved. When he moved to kneel up off his heels, reaching for the whips on the sofa, the sight of muscles tensing and shifting was almost enough to lure John over. He wanted to feel the movement under Jim’s skin, to watch the expression on his face as he looked at the whips, to know what he was thinking.

Jim’s limits were sensible, but on the hard end: No scarring, no permanent damage. Drawing blood wasn’t off the list, at least from his side. As a doctor, John had issues with that, though it was more because of the difficulty of sterilizing a whip. Three times before, he’d played with blades, at his partner’s request. Unsurprisingly, he was good with them; surprisingly, he’d liked it.

Somehow, he thought Jim would choose the signal whip — move things right along, so to speak — but he didn’t. He picked up the flogger, one hand on the handle, the other on the heavy tails, as though testing its weight and suppleness. Then he looked back over his shoulder, and John could see that the smile hadn’t disappeared, though Jim’s warm eyes had gone dark.

Before John could call him over, Jim turned on his knees, raising the whip. He lowered his head, and —

 _Oh, he isn’t,_ John thought, but he was, carefully taking the handle crosswise in his teeth, close to the tails, where the balance would be a bit more even. And then he was crawling, managing to put a level of grace into it, where most people — even practiced subs — usually just looked ridiculous. His hips shifted and his back was arched and he moved with his whole body, not just a shuffle of hands and knees. His head was raised, but it wasn’t enough to keep the flogger tails from dragging on the carpet, and he was careful not to catch them under his hand.

Despite catching only glimpses, John could see that he was fully hard now. John allowed himself to stare, knowing that was what Jim wanted — to give his submission to John, and for John to appreciate it. He most definitely did.

Jim stopped at John’s feet, looking up at him, still on all fours. Rather than taking the whip, John left it in place as he ran his fingers through Jim’s hair. He studied Jim’s face and body and eyes, noting how he’d gone relaxed and yet focused. They’d barely begun, but already John knew that Jim’s awareness was shifting, outside concerns slipping away, replaced by the electric tension building between them.

Abruptly, John clenched his fist in Jim’s short hair and pulled sharply up, forcing Jim’s hands up off the floor as he knelt upright. To John’s surprise, Jim didn’t drop the flogger. He let out a startled sound, but he didn’t drop it, and John grinned, wondering if Jim was trying to avoid punishment or if he was trying to be perfect. He had a feeling it was the latter.

“You picked this because you want it to last longer,” John said, holding his left hand out in front of Jim’s mouth. “Didn’t you?”

Carefully, Jim set the flogger in John’s palm, though the motion forced him to pull against the hair trapped in John’s fist. “Yes, sir,” he said, his voice not quite as steady as it had been before.

John curled his fingers around the handle. The leather was warm and slightly damp. He couldn’t feel any impression from Jim’s teeth.

“Right choice,” John said, and kissed Jim for the first time, without letting go of his hair. Jim surrendered entirely to the kiss, letting John explore his mouth and bite at his lips, only chasing his tongue back in tentative little brushes. His body swayed forward, though he didn’t reach for John’s legs to balance. His hands, twitched into tense fists, remained at his sides. When John swept the tails of the flogger up his arm, his whole body shivered beautifully.

He released Jim carefully, soothing his stinging scalp with gentle touches. “It’s all right,” he said when Jim’s hand brushed his leg. Tentatively, Jim curled his hand around John’s calf, pressing his face against John’s thigh.

For a moment, they stood there. John draped the tails of the flogger over Jim’s back, making him shudder and lean into John’s legs. Jim exhaled long and quietly, and John felt more of his own tension drain away.

“Up, Jim. Lean against the window, feet spread,” he ordered, determined to do this properly for both their sakes.

“Yes, sir.” The words seemed to come more naturally this time. He took one step toward the window, then another, his gaze going right to the handprint that showed where John had pushed. Deliberately, he put one hand over that print, his other hand finding a similar spot a comfortable distance away. Then he stepped back and to the side, first with one foot, then the other, leaving his legs a bit more than shoulder-width apart, his body canted toward the window.

Jim had said he was a bit of an exhibitionist, but that he also didn’t want to involve anyone in their scenes without a prior meeting. Given the lighting, the chance that anyone would see them was minimal, especially with the balcony obscuring the view from below, but all the same, John could imagine how exposed Jim felt up against the glass.

He was tempted to blindfold Jim, to heighten the awareness of his own nudity and the window and the fact that John was still clothed, but he decided to leave that for later. Or next time, he thought, deciding that he did want there to be a next time. He wasn’t ready for a relationship — he couldn’t even think the word without remembering Sherlock — but taking a lover wasn’t out of the question.

Leaving the cane against the wall, he moved to stand behind Jim’s right hip, and studied his position. The loft was absolutely silent. The flogger was heavy in his hand but felt right, though it had been more than a month. He felt like he was back in the army, coming home for a few brief weeks of leave before shipping back out to somewhere hot and dry where most of the population wanted him dead or at least gone. It was like coming home.

He watched as Jim’s breathing quickened, though John hadn’t moved except to look into the glass, studying the reflection of his face. Their eyes locked. John raised the flogger, and Jim’s eyes closed, tension rippling across his shoulders before John struck.

 

~~~

 

Jim fell heavily to his knees, hands skittering over the glass, breath coming in little gasps. He still had the presence of mind to kneel prettily, abused buttocks pressed to his heels, knees spread, welted back straight. He let his head hang down, no longer meeting John’s eyes.

John knew that Jim’s awareness was centered not on his surroundings but on his own body. It was a good start, but it wasn’t enough. John knew he could take much more.

Catching his own breath, John crouched behind him and set the signal whip on the carpet. When he pressed a hand to the back of Jim’s neck, Jim’s whole body shuddered. His skin was cool, sweat drying in the warm air, probably causing the welts to sting. John shivered a little as well; he’d stripped off his shirt when he’d switched from the flogger to the signal whip. The exertion was hell on his left arm, but in a good way.

“You all right?” John asked softly. “You’re doing beautifully.”

“Fine,” Jim answered, the word drawn out on a shuddering exhale. He inhaled and lifted his head, pressing back into John’s touch, meeting his eyes in the glass. “So are you,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing on his lips.

John laughed, letting a hint of cold cruelty slip into the sound, and tightened his grip until Jim’s eyes closed. Keeping hold of Jim, steadying him, John lifted his right hand and started tracing the red lines he’d raised over Jim’s shoulders.

“Fucking hell,” Jim whispered, the words breaking. He arched his back, bowing his head lower, and settled more comfortably on his knees, allowing John’s fingers to focus his pain with soft touches.

John listened to Jim’s breathing get lighter and faster again. When he judged the quiet, low-key moment had stretched long enough, he curled his fingers and dug short, blunt fingernails into the stripe under Jim’s shoulderblade.

He let out an explosive gasp, reflexively arching away. Expecting the sudden movement, John followed with his hand, pressing bright half-moons into the already sensitive flesh. Jim’s hands clenched into fists, still pushed against the glass.

“Breathe, Jim,” John urged quietly. He pushed harder, glancing between the reflection of Jim’s face and the way his skin had gone white in the shadowed hollows around John’s fingertips. He didn’t want to draw blood.

Jim dragged in a breath and exhaled, some of the tension easing. His hands dropped lower on the glass, no longer white-knuckled.

John carefully eased the pressure until his fingertips rested lightly on Jim’s skin. Blood rushed back into the impressions of John’s nails carved into the long, narrow welt.

“Good. Keep breathing, Jim,” John said, moving his hand across to another line. This time, when John dug his nails hard into the welt, Jim let out a soft moan and pushed back into the touch.

 

~~~

 

As John reached the top of the stairs, he saw Jim bending down to draw back the thick white comforter draped over his bed. “Stop!” John ordered sharply, and Jim froze, turning slowly to look back at him. At John’s command to kneel, Jim went to his knees on the spot, hands twitching slightly as he rested them on his thighs.

The bed was unusually low, like a futon, which could be inconvenient. John could work with it, though he didn’t want to take the time to set up anything elaborate.

He put down the bag he’d carried upstairs and leaned his cane against the acrylic railing that overlooked the living room. Overhead, rain drummed softly against three high skylights. During the day, the flat would be filled with light.

John went to the corner of the bed and flipped up the comforter, smiling to himself when he spotted the bed frame. Metal legs supported a wooden platform that provided a hard surface for a thick futon. That would make his life much easier.

He put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, feeling how slack his muscles were. Jim turned his head, pressing his face against John’s forearm, his breath softly ghosting over John’s skin. John held the contact for a moment before he turned away to get his kit.

He sorted through the contents quickly, laying out heavy leather cuffs, a length of rope, and a blindfold. Some other time, he’d indulge himself with a long, lazy day of nothing but ropes — assuming Jim was still interested after tonight. For now, though, John knew his own self-control was in danger of slipping; it had been too long since he’d done anything like this on his own, without the impersonal distance of a business relationship in the way.

“Back up a couple of feet. Stay on your knees,” he told Jim, who obediently shuffled backwards. The movement was no longer quite as graceful as it would have been even an hour ago, making John smile. He was getting into Jim’s head, breaking down his socially proper walls, and he wanted _more_ of that.

As soon as Jim was far enough back, John lashed a rope to the nearest leg of the bed frame, leaving two short tails hanging free. When he looked back, Jim was watching curiously; some of the sharp awareness had come back to him as his interest was captured by the puzzle of what John was doing.

John said nothing; he’d find out eventually. The ropes were just preparation for the future, not meant to be immediately used. If this continued between them, Jim would eventually learn that John was almost obsessive about preparing scenes ahead of time. Normally, he wouldn’t have agreed to a scene in an unfamiliar flat, but he wasn’t quite ready to have anyone at his flat, in his bed. The memory of his one night with Sherlock was still too raw.

Pushing those thoughts aside, John retrieved the leather cuffs and, after a moment of hesitation, took hold of Jim’s left wrist. It was a novelty to have a left-handed sub.

Jim shuddered at the touch of leather against his wrist. He turned enough to watch, his eyes half-shut with relaxed pleasure. When John tightened the cuff, buckling it in place, Jim sighed and let his eyes fall completely closed.

John retrieved the second cuff and a small carabiner. With a long-term partner, he would have used locks to secure the cuffs together — he probably would have used small locks on each cuff as well — but not tonight.

When John put the cuff on Jim’s right wrist, Jim looked automatically toward the rope, anticipating having his hands tied to the bed frame. He shifted and started to reach that way, and John snapped, “No.”

Startled, Jim raised his head as John caught both wrists, pulling them back, working the carabiner through the rings on each cuff. Jim’s shoulders and arms went tense, and when John let go, he tested the bonds that trapped his wrists at the small of his back.

Then, quietly, Jim laughed. It sounded like approval, or maybe surrender.

Grinning at Jim’s unbroken spirit, John put a hand between his shoulderblades and pushed him forward. “Head down, arse up, Jim. Spread your legs.”

Jim hesitated for a moment, not with reluctance but with surprise, processing what John wanted him to do. “Fuck,” he whispered softly. John stayed close, ready to catch him if he couldn’t manage, but Jim had excellent balance, only falling the last couple of inches without his hands to support him.

It was uncomfortable, but John had no intention of keeping him like this for long. The carpet would be rough against Jim’s face and chest, providing no padding for his knees, but he didn’t need long. He wanted Jim disoriented and off-balance, physically and mentally.

This was pleasure, not business. John had brought lubricant and condoms, and he got both out of his bag, making sure to keep out of Jim’s line-of-sight. He’d already been slow and careful and meticulous. Now, Jim needed something fast and rough to push him over the edge, to make him forget everything else but John.

He ran his left thumb over his fingernails, making certain they were short and smooth. He didn’t want to hurt Jim — not like this. Quietly, he unscrewed the cap of the bottle, not wanting Jim to hear the sound of the top flipping open. He spilled lubricant over his fingers and put the bottle behind himself, where an errant kick wouldn’t cause it to spill.

Careful to give no warning, he pressed his finger to the soft, hot skin just behind Jim’s balls. Jim flinched violently, hissing in a breath with another quiet curse. He spread his legs a bit more, arching his back to push into John’s touch.

With his right hand, John smacked Jim’s arse hard, saying, “If you don’t stop moving, I’ll leave you like this.” Jim shivered but stopped moving otherwise, and John had to bite back a laugh at his enthusiasm.

After a moment, John dragged his finger up, drawing a damp, cool trail to the tight, sensitive skin around his anus. Jim’s legs went tense, as if he were struggling not to move, and his breath hitched.

As hard as he dared, John pushed, forcing his finger into Jim’s body with no warning. He didn’t go far, but it was enough to drag a needy, desperate sound from Jim’s throat. It didn’t seem like he was in pain, though — not from John’s finger, at any rate — and he was bearing down, trying to open himself to the intrusion.

He pushed the rest of the way in, his own thoughts momentarily scrambled by the need to get his cock inside Jim right fucking now.

For a few endless seconds, they just breathed. The feel of Jim’s body surrounding his finger was hypnotic, almost distracting John from his plan. When he pulled his hand back, Jim let out another breathy sigh, muscles going tight as if he could keep John’s finger inside for just a moment longer.

When he was barely touching Jim’s entrance, just enough to press against the muscles, John paused. He extended a second finger, and this time, when he pushed back in, he twisted to the side, using both fingers to roughly open Jim’s body further.

Jim’s back flexed, his head coming up as he gasped, hands tugging hard against the cuffs. _“Please!”_

“Do you need me to stop?” John demanded, working his fingers almost all the way out.

“No!” The word came out clipped and harsh. “God, no. Please — Please, _sir,_ ” he tried, the word trailing off into a whimper as John thrust his fingers in again.

“Then shut up,” John snapped coldly, his hand moving faster. He was careful to avoid Jim’s prostate, focusing instead on relaxing his muscles and stimulating the over-sensitive skin at his entrance, all with no apparent regard for Jim’s own comfort.

It was a routine he’d perfected over the years, a careful balance between his knowledge of the human body, his acting skills, and his understanding of just how far into subspace he could push someone. Everyone was different; not all of his partners could have accepted this without giving in to the fear that John was going to inflict actual damage, but Jim wasn’t fighting him at all. He was fighting himself, struggling to obey John’s orders to remain still and silent.

John’s goal was to make him lose that battle.

Before Jim would have thought himself ready, John forced a third finger in. Jim was breathing hard and fast now, jaw clenched shut to keep from speaking, fists straining against the cuffs. John reached out with one hand and wrapped his fist around the carabiner, pulling down just enough for Jim to feel the strain in his shoulders.

With subtle movements of his thumb, he opened the carabiner gate. Smoothly, with no warning, he twisted the carabiner free of the D-rings as he withdrew his left hand completely.

Jim let out a moan of protest, his hips stuttering back as though chasing the sensation. “Sir, _please!_ ” he pleaded, shakily bringing his hands up to shoulder-level, palms flat against the carpet.

John didn’t answer. He snatched up the blindfold with his right hand and moved forward to press it over Jim’s eyes. Caught off-guard, Jim gasped, automatically tossing his head to try and move away, but John already had the two straps in place. The upper strap went around the back of his head. The other went around the back of his neck, holding the lower ends of the blindfold in place, keeping it from slipping up onto his forehead or letting him see out the bottom. It wasn’t as secure or efficient as a hood, but John preferred not to use hoods. He liked being able to grab his sub’s hair.

As soon as the blindfold was in place, John barked, “On your back, hands over your head.” Startled, Jim scrambled to obey. John gave him no time to orient himself. He snapped, “Find the ropes. Hold onto them. Don’t let go. Understand?” He kept an eye on Jim as he unbuckled his belt.

“Yes!” Jim gasped, clawing for the two rope ends tied to the bed. Without his eyes and with no way to know how close he was to the bed, he was struggling.

“Hands up!” John barked, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He shoved them down to his thighs, regretting his decision to stay at least partially clothed. If he changed his mind now, he’d have to waste time getting his boots off.

 _Fuck that,_ he thought, ripping open a condom wrapper with his teeth. He glanced up at Jim, who was still clawing at the carpet. “Higher!” John snapped helpfully, clipping off the word with a hiss as he rolled the condom in place. There was no way he’d be able to draw this out as much as he might have wanted. That would have to wait for next time.

He reached for the lubricant and poured a messy puddle into his hand. Quickly, he started spreading it over the condom. With the minimal preparation he’d done, Jim would feel every thrust burn and stretch him, but John didn’t want it to cross over to real pain or actual tissue damage.

Finally, Jim’s fists closed around the ropes, and he let out a desperate, relieved little sound, not quite a moan or a laugh but something in-between.

Blindfolded and aroused, the carpet scratching like sandpaper over his abraded back and arse, Jim was probably completely disoriented. He couldn’t know if seconds or minutes had passed. Still, John worked fast, not wanting him to have a chance to catch his breath.

“Knees up,” he ordered, fighting the pull of his blue jeans as he shuffled into place. “More! Or don’t you want me to fuck you?”

Struggling to pull his knees to his chest and curve his back, every motion dragging raw skin over the carpet, Jim nodded. “God, yes. Please, sir, yes.”

Hearing the way Jim’s voice shattered, John allowed himself a smile. Very carefully, he positioned his cock at Jim’s entrance and pushed, gritting his teeth with the effort to keep from thrusting in as hard as he could. Jim was tight, _very_ tight, fraying John’s self-control as he rocked his hips as though trying to encourage John to stop holding back.

When he’d sunk in all the way, he took a deep breath to steady himself. It was far too tempting to fuck Jim hard and fast and then pull out, leaving him begging for his own release. He wouldn’t do that now — not for a first time.

He got one hand under Jim’s knee, helping to keep him steady. His left hand was still slick with lubricant. When he wrapped his fingers around Jim’s cock, Jim let out a surprised moan and tried to push up against the touch.

John shifted his hips, pulling back just enough that his thrust stole Jim’s breath. “Move and I stop,” he warned in a low, rough growl, and Jim trembled but went still.

God, this was just what he needed, after the hellish stress of the last month. Jim was lost in his head, desperate and submissive and entirely John’s, at least for tonight, for now. His body was tight and felt so damned good that John finally let the last of his worries slip away.

“Tell me if you get close, Jim,” he said as he started to move, rough and fast, timing his thrusts with the movement of his hand as best he could. “Don’t even think about coming without permission.”

Not that he was going to last for even five damned minutes, the way this was going. With every breath, Jim made this needy, desperate sound that went straight to John’s cock. His hands were so tight around the ropes that he’d probably have rope burns on his palms without even moving. He didn’t think to let go, though it was only John’s will keeping him helpless.

He varied his rhythm, changing his angle of penetration, trying to find the right combination of sensations to break down the last of Jim’s defenses. When it finally happened, he felt it in the way Jim yielded to him, before he even gasped out, “Sir — God, sir — please —”

“Don’t!” John warned, his left hand stilling as he snapped his hips, driving into Jim harder and faster.

 _“Fuck,”_ Jim groaned, hands twisting at the ropes. With nothing to brace against, every thrust dragged him against the carpet. If not for the endorphins flooding his system, the pain would have probably been incredible.

John was too close to drag this out for long, though. He moved his hand up Jim’s cock, swiping his fingers over the head, and thrust deep inside. “Now, Jim. Come for me,” he ordered, putting everything he’d learned about Jim’s preferences into the way his hand moved.

Jim’s hips rocked, back arching to push his cock up into John’s hand, the motion opening his body even more to John’s thrusts. It took less than a minute before Jim’s body went tight, clenching in rhythm to the cock pulsing in John’s hand.

Seconds later, John’s vision went black, hot waves of pleasure coursing through him. He managed a few more hard, off-rhythm thrusts before his strength faltered, drained away by the bone-deep satisfaction that filled him.

Gently now, he pulled free of Jim’s body, drawing groans from both of them. Carefully, he helped Jim to lie flat, using a touch on his hip to get him to roll over onto his side. His whole back was bright red with carpet-burn, but none of the welts were bleeding. In another minute, when he could walk without tripping over his own feet, he’d find the bathroom and get some towels to take care of him.

Jim shifted a bit, bending one leg up, taking slower, deeper breaths. His body was languid and relaxed, except for his arms, still extended up over his head, ropes tangled around his fists.

John didn’t know if he’d forgotten about the ropes or if he was still deep in subspace, obeying John’s orders. Whichever it was, John found it adorable.

Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to Jim’s temple, laughing softly as he said, “You can let go of the ropes now, Jim. We’re done.”


End file.
